(There are over four dozen percussion instruments in the show.) âDavid would find what’s cool,â Freedman said, âand be like, there’s a restaurant or a museum or something weird, funny – “Cumming, Iowa! We have to go! “įor Byrne, the rides kept him “healthy on the road,” he later told me, “and inspired and energized.” They would sometimes run 25 miles before the soundcheck, added Daniel Freedman, another drummer. The bikes had their own compartment on the tour bus: âEven when we went overseas, the bikes came,â said Tim Keiper, a drummer. This group of musicians had toured with “American Utopia” at a more traditional rock concert a few years ago, and their matching bikes – a foldable model made by Tern – also arrived. Byrne timed everything, surrounded by his cycling companions. ![]() But even that turned into a moment for Byrnian’s wonder, thanks to a subway preacher and his cronies, and an unexpected bit of ecstatic dancing – the civic and the divine aboard Train 7. One night that was to be a dream celebration of this multicultural city and its fortuitous connections, experienced on top of a bicycle seat, ended in a (very) soggy group ride on the metro. A few moments later, the skies opened: Tropical Storm Henri, arrived much earlier than expected. Byrne was still in the lead As soon as the traffic was gone, he took off his helmet, revealing his signature silver headdress.Īs we landed at Flushing Meadows Corona Park the sun was setting. We also maybe blew up a few red lights and caused a few double takes as Cole Wilson the photographer and his assistant Bryan Banducci rode past the group but looked back to take their picture. We walked through families barbecuing on pedestrian blocks and rang our bells along cumbia and reggaeton by the side of the street. That Saturday, we drove through Jackson Heights towards Corona – two neighborhoods, Byrne later observed, that had been hit hard, early on, by the coronavirus – and saw the rhythms of the city change. âDriving in New York is – hoo-hoo! trills Angie Swan, the guitarist, who had moved here from Milwaukee to work with Byrne and was now dodging a crowded bike path. ![]() In pairs exchanged or dispersed, our expedition occupied half a block. On the wharf, he gave some general instructions – lean left at the big brick building, “Come down for, like, a few miles should I say when is our next turn? Sixty-first, we make a right â- then we took off. All her crew, comrades from “American Utopia“, were also on board. He was easy to spot, often dressed in still pristine white – as he was that night, stepping off the East River ferry in white pants, a blue guayabera shirt, and brown fisherman’s sandals. In Before Times, I could sometimes measure the speed and verve of my nightlife by how often I passed him while speeding up for an event along the Williamsburg Waterfront Bike Path. Byrne is, of course, a dedicated cyclist: he wrote a book about it and even designed bike racks last week he took an electric bike to the Met Gala (so he wouldn’t sweat!) and checked his helmet at the door.
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